


Shadows of Stars

by Trins_xxx



Series: Shadows and Ghosts Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Marauders, Black Family, F/F, F/M, Gen, Good or slightly grey Slytherins, M/M, Marauders' Era, Muggle Life, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Muggles, Multi, Not Incompetent Muggles, Post-Marauders' Era, Powerful Muggles, Pro-Muggle, Pro-Petunia, Pro-Slytherins, Slytherin, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trins_xxx/pseuds/Trins_xxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana Le Fey had said that the smallest of actions could lead to the greatest of changes, that stepping on an ant could lead to the death of a dragon. This story is the one where a different ant is stepped on, leading to a different dragon potentially dying, leading to an AU which has a more grey interpretation of the first wizarding war in Britain, with a Sirius who hates his family less than he'd like to think, Severus isn't universally despised, Evan Rosier is more than a name and becomes an actual person, Slytherins aren't universally stupid, idiotic or blind followers (although the Gryffin-tards might be) and perhaps the Black family isn't as black-and-white as some might interpret them to be.</p><p>Regulus and Sirius-centric. Pro-Slytherin with a slightly scathing view on the more bullying activities by the Marauders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**~ The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems. ~**

_**Mahatma Gandhi** _

 

It feels like rain is Sirius' constant companion whenever a life altering event took place. Rumour had it that he had been born in the midst of a great thunderstorm, although he had always put that down to his mother's hyperbole and love for dramatics. There was a steady rain the entirety of the day that he had first started Hogwarts, the British summer living up to its infamy. It had been raining so heavily that he couldn't see more than a foot in front of him on the cold, wintry day, just a couple short of Christmas, when he had left his family and the family house for good. And he had felt the forceful splatterings of the spring showers the day he had all but disowned his own brother. It was, therefore, bizarre that rain produced zero emotions in him. The smell, the sound, the feel of it – Sirius was as indifferent to it as anyone could really be.

Sitting in the middle of the local pub with a pint of Butterbeer slipping easily down his throat, Sirius is oblivious to April celebrating its arrival with a flimsy drizzle, surrounded as he is by heat from an overcrowded tavern and the smell of sweat that so frequently accompanied it.

'To Alice,' James raises a glass pointing to the blonde with the heart shaped face. 'May she always come to our rescue,' he cheerfully ends the toast as all those around their table raise their glasses.

'Maybe you wouldn't need rescuing if you actually used common sense for once,' she retorts, cheeks red from embarrassment or alcohol, most likely both.

It wasn't understating things to say that Alice had literally saved their lives. It had been Sirius and James at the Order headquarters when news had come of a small scale attack on a Muggle village in the Yorkshire wilds. Pausing only to send an owl to Lily, they had rushed off, confident in their abilities to take on a handful of Death Eaters. Lily fortunately hadn't taken long to contact Alice, who had, in turn, contacted all of her fellow auror trainees she had been drinking with after work. Formulating a plan and forcing her friends to comply with it using threats, hexes and that dangerous glint in her eyes, they had encircled the village, only to find a dozen Death Eaters battling against Sirius and James, who had taken refuge inside a house. It had been luck, though the men would claim it was their skills, that had kept them alive long enough for the help to arrive. Though they hadn't managed to capture any Death Eaters or stop them in a more permanent manner, in these miserable times, it was great news if the Order members all survived and they had opted to celebrate living to see dinner with rather unhealthy quantities of alcohol.

'Shots for the hero,' Sirius demands, pointing enthusiastically in Alice's direction and sloshing half of his Butterbeer on the floor. 'In fact, shots all around.'

After cheerfully downing his shot, the varieties of alcohol mixing uncomfortably in his stomach, it is James that calls it a night first, eager to appease his fiancé and convince her that, really, it hadn't been a stupid thing to do to run headfirst into an ambush. James' departure acts as a sounding bell for the others, everyone drifting away to their homes in dribs and drabs, until Alice and Sirius are the only ones left.

'You alright?' She remains surprisingly astute, though the alcohol had reddened her cheeks and glazed her eyes.

'Course,' Sirius replies lazily, tilting his chair back such that it rested purely on the two back legs, hooded eyes contemplating the remnants of his glass of Butterbeer. 'Good day's work, all things considered.'

Alice debates internally for a minute, plain for all to see. She'd never been particularly friendly with Sirius or his gang during their school years, their particular brand of humour apparently uncomfortably close to bullying. Potter had applied for Auror training but Sirius hadn't even attempted it, contrary to what she had expected, and it had only been when she'd joined the Order of the Phoenix that she'd spent time with him. And he was prickly, no doubt about that. Where James oozed saccharine charm that turned her stomach, Sirius was distant and aloof and outrageously flirtatious with anything that moved. Despite that, the time they had spent together on different projects and occasional missions had allowed her to see past the initial façade, although she wasn't arrogant enough to think she knew him through and through, or even close to it. She often doubted even James knew him that well, best friends though they might be.

The face he wore now, the forced nonchalance, the determined cheer belied by the storminess of his grey eyes was what she referred to as his 'family' face. 'Did you see a cousin?' She asks him bluntly, deciding that something like subtlety would be lost on a guy so skilled at brooding.

A familiar combination of anger and distaste distorts the otherwise handsome face and it's always been a source of wonder for Alice, to see such outward carelessness covering so much rage. 'They're all wearing masks, so how would I know?' he snaps back, each word short and clipped with an effort. His eyes, now flashing with anger, peruse the countenance of the blonde, the openness doing little but angering him more. She never hid what she thought, from when she called him mean in their younger days to calling them selfish and thoughtless when they rushed headlong into situations like the one just now. The one stance she had never made apparent was regarding his family. It was impossible to gauge whether she disapproved of them as heartily as James did or whether she felt some sort of sympathy, like Remus. Sirius wouldn't ordinarily have been bothered by it, if he wasn't certain that his outward total aversion to his family wasn't as total as he would like it to be.

He knew her well enough to know that she was preparing a reply, her stubbornness worse than Potter's when she thought it justified. He drops the chair onto all four of its legs abruptly. 'We should get going,' he tells her, preventing any further attempts at continuing the conversation. It hadn't passed his notice that she's become more appreciative of him or that her eyes frequently lingered longer than they should. Whatever attraction she felt, he had no intention of anything beyond a transient dalliance at best. He's left the table and reached the door without once looking back, exiting into the dark skies with the intangible mizzle that perfectly reflects his thoughts.

The walk back through the boroughs of London does little to soothe his thoughts. The drops of rain, gentle as they are, merely cling to him like drops of dew, achieving little in terms of soaking him. Sirius doesn't care. He needs this walk, even if the weather isn't compliant with it. His steps are firm to the point of being impactful, his head bowed down against the wet wind but he has purpose in his strides. He knows the direction to the flat he's sharing with Remus without having to apply conscious thought and he allows his feet to lead in the general vicinity, choosing on a simple whim to prolong the walk the better to rid his raging confusion and confounding anger. It is probably better that Remus is covering a night shift at the Order, but Sirius has always been a man of company and would have far preferred his werewolf friend to be there, even if it meant curbing his anger to whatever feasible extent he could. And on nights like this, when Sirius has little energy to formulate comprehensible thoughts and no energy whatsoever to disentangle  
his emotions, the company would have served as a nice distraction.

When Sirius finally reaches the stretch of road containing his flat, his mood has taken a turn for the worse, dipping from impotent rage to sorrow. The clouds do their best to hide the moon and any stars that may attempt an appearance, and the wind has picked up speed along with the rain. He shouldn't have taken the detour, Sirius thinks as he flexes his resistant fingers, stiff from the cold. He is completely soaked through now and that should have made him angrier, instead he is just more despondent. The darkness made monsters out of the shadows, flitting this way and that eerily, worsened only by the trees that line the suburban neighbourhood, reaching overhead like claws entombing the street. Sirius' steps have long lost their energy, each step costing more energy than they should, perhaps due to the added wet weight but he pushes on, disregarding the hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight and strong or that prickling feeling of discomfort that becomes louder than the roaring wind. He should have never distrusted his instincts, he'll think later on.

He is mere metres away when the shadows on the steps to his block of flats transform into a person, somebody with a black cloak blending into the shadows and sitting in wait. By the time he has his wand out, the figure is standing, wand held out in right hand and his left clutching a material and Sirius has no hesitation in barking out a curse. Casually moving his right foot back, the curse bypassed him completely, but by then, Sirius is just close enough to recognise the material held out in the left hand. It was his cloak, the one his brother had pilfered when he had first left for Hogwarts and his assumption that it is his brother is only proved false when they are a metre apart, in the meagre light offered by the streetlamps several houses away. The shoulders are too broad, height too tall, the hands clutching it are pale enough but they are the wrong hands and it isn't his brother and he's now in a physically disadvantaged position.

'Death Eater,' he hisses out but he is heard over the sound of the clouds unleashing their own vitriol.

'I come in peace,' he's answered back but Sirius makes no move to take the wand still held out to him, handle pointing outwards. Sirius had many flaws but stupidity wasn't one of them. He knew just how much damage wandless spells could accomplish.

'I should just kill you right now,' Sirius shouts, and there is relief flowing through him, born by finding a victim for his indistinct anger.

'It's Reggie,' is the non sequitor, wand hanging loosely between the right thumb and right forefinger, and they are the only words that have the potential to stop Sirius. Sirius knows that, as does the Death Eater before him, and that makes Sirius distrust the very nature of the words. His wand feels warm in his hands, magic pulsing through it, and Sirius knew he should just hex the man before him to oblivion. They are manipulative bastards, these guys in masks and he had been warned they would try to use his family against him. He has a hex in mind, his lips have all but uttered it when other words fall from them.

'And why should I care?' The question is furious and resentful, and the hex flew anyway, a foot to the left of making any contact and the fact that the figure was immovable, had remained immovable, worked up his ire all the more.

'Reggie's dying.' The wind has whipped Sirius' hair this way and that, his face is soaked to the point that it would be impossible to tell tears from drops of rain. A particularly vicious gust does its best to push him forward, but it has the benefit of forcing the hood of the Death Eater's cloak back. Sirius stares into those familiar eyes, piercing him with their intensity.

'And whose fault is that?' Sirius asks again, blame dripping in every syllable and he finds it fascinating to see just how much paler the face before him could become, a myriad of emotions passing before resuming its neutrality. He knew he should blast the monster before him, capture him and save lives, do the right thing and though that is what his head is telling him to do, he makes no move to detain him.

'He's dying Sirius, we need your help,' is the reply, not shouted but still loud enough to be heard over the storm that is in full swing and Sirius just stares at him, at the impossible choice before him. Do the right thing or… Or betray his friends, his conscience, his beliefs…

He utters the words without thought, and this time the spell hits the target, who's surprised enough to drop both wand and cloak. It's too dark to see the stain of blood spreading through the cloak he wears but he's clearly in pain, clutching his right arm, his wand arm. It's not for nothing that Sirius has survived the war thus far. His fingers itch to cage him, the magic thrums from the wand to his hand and back and the words feel natural, right, as they fall from his lips.

'What's happened? Where is he?' Once the decision is made, the uncertainty is gone. Instead Sirius wonders how he could have ever thought there was a choice to be made.

* * *

 

Morgana Le Fey had written that the smallest of actions could lead to the greatest of changes, that stepping on an ant could lead to the death of a dragon. Whilst her magical prowess were well recognised and her links to dark magic infamous, her philosophising had faded into obscurity, few aware that this had been her primary focus during her life or that she had conversed with the greatest minds of her time, magical and muggle alike.

As the poison worked its treachery, all Regulus had wanted to know was which bloody ant had gotten stepped on for this damnable outcome? He had remained on his feet until Kreacher had disappeared, thereafter falling ungraciously to his knees. The hallucinations of his darkest memories had been bad enough before they had mingled with the visions of the future he had feared most. They remained in the peripheries, but now that he wasn't actively drinking the poison, Regulus' head had cleared enough to be aware of the surroundings and the dismal outlook.

It was increasingly burning him from the inside out. It was clearly a complex mixture and a part of his mind that had become unfogged thought that Severus would have delighted in experimenting with this, examining its workings and building on it. Severus would also despise him and berate him, probably hex him too, if he ever found out what he had done. His hands had found the water and dripped it down his throat before his mind had processed it. He repeated the action thoughtlessly. Each drop pushed the inferno further and further within him, and had the double effect of easing the clouding of his mind.

It was only when the first set of deathly cold hands had grabbed him that he was jerked out of his stupor, his compulsive hands abruptly stilled. For a moment, he had stared affixed at the ghastly hands. Then with a choked gasp that Regulus wasn't certain had actually left his mouth, he had scuttled away. The imminence of his death had struck him, removing whatever little vestige of colour that had remained in his face. Knowing he would die was apparently an entirely different experience to facing its immediacy. If he had to die on his knees, mother would surely be proud that it would be on his knees before these gauche dead beings rather than living ones, he had thought grimly, lips refusing to twist into a wry smile despite his best efforts.

The burning had returned with a ferociousness that all but had him screaming. His mind was entirely muddled and he lost any awareness beyond that of the steady smouldering. His hands had reached for the water of their own accord, and even the cold hands of corpses had not hindered him. Again and again he dropped the water into his mouth and the more that slipped down, the more the burning receded, as did his confusion. His entire being trembled, and down on his knees, animated corpses surrounding him, he was never more thankful that his father would never see him, not like this, nor whatever hellish thing he became after his death. His father would be disgusted by his pathetic death, but even more so by the wretched entanglement he had created by his own willing slavery and the ineptitude of his attempts at extrication. Hopefully not enough for his father to finally be pushed into disowning a child; though it wouldn't help him in the afterlife that he faced, it might help others... But best not think about that...

As he gained enough capacities to comprehend the dead hands pulling at him, scratching, clawing, grabbing, he remained spellbound, too many now with a hold on him for him to pull away. By all the damned in Hades, maybe none in his direct family would miss him. Possibly Severus wouldn't either, but at least he had cousins that would! Poor Cissy would be quite cut up about his death when she would find out, and his Cousin Evan, dearest Evan… Yes, he would be missed by the cousin who had guarded him so closely throughout their years. Although knowing Evan, and this time Regulus summoned a travesty of a smile, knowing Evan, he would probably comment on missing nothing more than their badinage in that drawl that had never failed to draw an answering smile from him. And curses, he would miss his cousin terribly too, and he would deny it to his dying days (matter of seconds now, really) that he had ever shed any tears over the thought of letting his dearest cousin down.

His limbs were frozen, too cold to move in a manner that was anything but sluggish and it was such a contrast to the poisoned internal furnace within him. Really, who could have ever imagined such a torturous method of death? Freezing, burning and drowning? He shivered, the thoughts of drowning shoving all else from his mind for the moment. Third time was the charm for the Fates, it seemed. And how aptly it fitted that the drowning that would keep would occur by his own hands. He probably deserved it, he thought sleepily, the effort of moving against the hands pulling him under too difficult to maintain. But the news of the attack on the only two members of the Order of the Phoenix he had tried to protect, and the certainty of the news that would await him following the attack had banished any constraints that had chained him into inaction. Gone were thoughts of survival, of the months he had spent plotting and planning, gathering scraps of information scattered here and there. In its place had been the sort of foolhardy, reckless action that had made his brother so well adjusted to the House famed for their idiots – Gryffindor. And as much as he hated his brother, there was still that part of him that held him dear. Adding to his list of regrets was that he had never told his brother just what an arse he was or how his estimation of himself surpassed the estimation others held of him or how he hated him but still cared for him and that he would always be his brother.

He had finally opened his mouth, unable to battle it any longer, and as the water had rushed into his lungs, the haziness in Regulus' mind seemed to clear entirely. Had this been intentional? Riddle was sadistic and it seemed entirely plausible that he had concocted just such a poison that would be neutralised by water, allowing the poisoned clarity just before their death. His life was a just price if it made Riddle mortal were his last thoughts as he died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where Sirius hates non-consensual side-along apparition, Severus doesn't curse him immediately on sight and Kreacher isn't entirely the focus of his ire.

**~ I am a firm believer in the people. If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any national crisis. The great point is to bring them the real facts. ~**

 

Abraham Lincoln

 

An icy hand grabs hold of him tightly and Sirius feels the uncomfortable tug of a side-along apparition before he has time to do more than utter an oath, the kind that would have Lily frowning at him. When he's able to open his eyes, he feels that familiar swell of resentment at the sight of the ancestral home.

 

Figures he would choose this hell hole, of all places, to die in, he thinks and it's moments before he comprehends his own thoughts, feeling a wave of disgust at his callousness. It could all be a trap – it some ways, he would much rather it be one – but there's an inherent part of himself that refuses to believe that his brother would plot against him in quite this way.

 

He follows his cousin across the road with neither of them looking left, nor right. Clearly the anti-apparition charms are still in place. The shadows it casts are physical as well as metaphorical, feeling constrictive and oppressive, that old feeling of claustrophobia slowly settling over Sirius. Evan Rosier opens the door, and it's the absence of the security measures that are usually in place that convinces Sirius of the authenticity of the situation, more than anything else. They march down a familiar corridor that retains its power to inflict despondency on Sirius, and up the stairs, stepping to the right of the one that creaks if trod upon anywhere else.

 

None of the gas lights are lit and the portraits are all throwing him looks of sympathy but Sirius is unaware of any of this, the urgency Rosier is feeling contaminating him enough for his heart to be beating much faster than when he had thought he was facing a Death Eater out for his blood.

 

Reaching the second floor, he pauses for the briefest of moments before a room to his left, eyeing it for less than a second before following Rosier into the room just beyond it. Familiar colours of green and silver inflict his eyes but the grimace is less to do with the room that has remained unchanged and more to do with the bastard standing in the centre of the room. Not even the presence of the dratted house-elf shifts the focus of his loathing. Their eyes meet briefly and Sirius is ready for this, the omnipresent rage pulsing through him again, biding its time for an outlet and who better than Snivellus? The simple nod he receives surprises him enough that he doesn't unleash his ire.

 

'Listen, Kreacher,' the name sounds as sour as the face of the wizard speaking it. 'Your master told you not to tell his family or friends, is that correct?' Sirius' eyes shifts to the despised house-elf, who appears on the verge of the ultimate breakdown, tears leaking unopposed down his face and anguish contouring his entire body. 'Now Black,' Snape hisses like the snake he is. 'Is most assuredly not a friend of Regulus, is he? And your mistress has told you he has been disowned, so he cannot be considered a family member or relative truly, can he?'

 

And then the house-elf goes mad, Sirius thinks, because their loathing has always been mutual and what else could cause it to throw itself at his feet? His cries are loud and hiccupping and revolting to look at, such that it takes Sirius a moment to comprehend the barely comprehensible words pouring out of the elf as fast as its tears. 'Yes, yes, I cannot disobey Master Regulas but I can tell Master Sirius because Master Sirius will surely save Master Regulas and won't let him die the most horrible of deaths. Oh, my poor master, who drank the poison and wouldn't let me-'

 

'Better yet, take him there,' Rosier unceremoniously interrupts the elongated speech. Before Sirius can do anything other than repeat the oath he had uttered earlier, he is being dragged by foreign magic, house-elf pulling him on his right arm and Rosier grabbing his left at the last minute.

 

He doesn't realise he has arrived due to the total absence of light. He blinks and blinks and still, there is nothing he can see, but he suspects a magical reasoning behind it. There is most assuredly magic here, large quantities that cause the hair all over his body to rise, and there is something uncomfortable about it that assures him it is the sort of magic he despises.

 

'Such dark magic,' his cousin's voice drifts to him from his left. There's nothing more that thoughtfulness lining it and it irks Sirius badly but why should he expect a lousy Slytherin to feel disdain for the magic dearest to them, he thinks.

 

The light that appears in front of him startles him completely by its nonverbal nature. The wand is already in his hand and pointed forward when he recognises his cousin's silhouette, and his lack of awareness that Rosier had moved forward only unnerves him further. The light is faint and its reach meagre and Sirius is all the more certain that there is magic here that is hindering them. His instincts kick in and he turns in a careful, small circle, eyes analysing and memorising all the surroundings around him – whatever little he can make out from the faint yellow light emitted by Rosier's wand. The only trees stand at quite a distance, and they have Sirius pondering whether the dark magic herein was enough to inhibit life. It would be consistent with the deafening silence he can hear, even insects choosing to stay away. The stars are barely visible, the slice of moon just there, but it felt like observing them through a veil. The muffled sound of water could be heard but try as he might, Sirius couldn't perceive any bodies of water, still or otherwise. There was a wall of rock before him and everything suggested this was a cliff of sorts, but where, Sirius would be hard put to identify as he forced back a subtle shudder that had little to do with the nippy wind working its way through his damp clothes, the wet mist still hanging here despite the cessation of rain.

 

'Kreacher?' Rosier started forward, drawing Sirius' attention to the wretched house-elf, and peering closely, he could just make out liquid dripping down his hand – presumably blood. Sirius is entirely unsurprised to find a door consequently opening in the wall of rocks, though he did find it distasteful.

 

'Are you planning on providing some light?' Rosier's withering question once again startles Sirius, and rather than throwing a hex, he mutters lumos. It does little to illuminate the cave that's opened up, filling Sirius with foreboding but discarding it, he steps forward, his self preservation making sure that he remain behind the Death Eater.

 

The shadows creep closer together, the light more paltry as they enter the cave and it is definitely powerful magic at work. He focuses once more on the beings before him, the dark wizard he despises and the evil creature he resents (or is it the other way round?). Both are muttering under their breath and it is with considerable effort that he discerns the meaning from their incoherence. Kreacher, as expected, is muttering about his 'poor Master Regulus' and his lips thin further when he realises his evil cousin is muttering 'c'mon Reg' under his breath. Irrationally, he resents his cousin for feeling this way about his baby brother, of all people. Equally irrationally, he would have hated his dratted cousin even more if he hadn't.

 

'Where is he, Kreacher?' Rosier's voice sounds simultaneously loud and stifled in the ominous cave that surrounds them so completely. It takes more time than Sirius cares for to extract words from the sobs of that foul thing, but eventually, they manage to work out words such as 'water', 'poor Master Regulus' and 'too late'. The words leave Sirius feeling livid and sick. No. This isnot how his little brother will end his life, if he has to resurrect the damn fool and wring his neck himself!

 

'Reg? Reggie? Reggie?' Rosier moves forward but when Sirius does the same, he turns around rapidly and, face to face, tells him in harsh tones to stay where he was. 'I'll need you to work out where the exit is and for the light. No sense in finding him only to be stuck here,' he bites out but Sirius feels only triumph as he sees the shudder he can't suppress. This superiority over the weaker man gives him enough satisfaction and peace to hang back, puzzling over why his light should be needed. The answer becomes obvious immediately and his lips curl back, ready to snarl that this would never work.

 

'Accio, Reg,' is boomed out and Rosier sounds demanding, more powerful that Sirius would have ever suspected. He's glad he hadn't uttered the scorn he felt when moments later he feels a disturbance in the water. Rosier has resorted to using his wand to focus his magic and the remaining light from his wand alone is too weak to see more than a couple of feet, but he feels the magic shifting. It takes longer before he can hear the water shifting and he refuses to think about how long his brother has been underwater. It won't help him any to think about it – once they have him safe and sound, and he's smacked some sense into the idiot, he'll worry about it but for right now, he tries to pierce the darkness with his eyes as best he can.

 

It is too long since the spell was uttered, and whilst the area thrums with fluctuating, changing magic, there is no sign of his brother. It is with supreme effort that Sirius maintains his stance, only the occasional sounds of exertion and grunting by Rosier reaching his ears preventing him from enacting violent retribution. At long last, eyes on maximum awareness, he detects a body elevating far too slowly from the depths of the water. Once free from it, he flies easily enough to Rosier, who has to step back to catch his brother. There's a struggle, unclear from his stance, a stumbling and fumbling that has his taking a couple of steps before Rosier's voice reaches him, strained from exertion and out of breath. 'For the sake of Morgana, apparate us out of here.'

 

Sirius acts promptly, the blatant panic energising him to swallow the questions that are waiting to trip from his lips. He tries once, twice, he even attempts a third time before he realises there must be anti-apparition jinxes in place. He states as much and is expecting Rosier's response telling him to hurry out of the cave rather than trying to break the dark magic that seems intermingled and beyond easy recognition. Before he can move to his brother's other side, the better (and faster) to carry him out, Rosier's harsh tone breaks the ominous silence. 'I'll carry him alone. You just get us out of here.' Debating for less than a second on the wisdom of arguing, Sirius stomps ahead instead, slow enough that he can light the way for that twit of a relative he hasn't acknowledged for the better part of the last decade. His light is considerably brighter outside the constraints of the cave, and he can feel his energy returning to its previous level. Before he can say anything, Kreacher grabs onto his brother with a sob and apparates with that damned Death Eater in tow, leaving Sirius stranded by his lonesome self.

 

The grating sound of the rock feature returning to its norm disturbs the air and after glaring at the rock, Sirius decides reluctantly to apparate back to the house of his miserable childhood. He blinks, surprised to find himself within the house, in fact, directly outside his old bedroom. There have been anti-apparition jinxes in place for centuries and whilst they were never particularly complex or glamorous, the fact that they are down rattle him, as he doubts that it was either of his parents' doing. That wizards such as Snape know this house so intimately is disturbing but he doesn't ponder it any longer, stepping into the room in time to hear Snape's furious 'You thrice damned fool,' and Rosier's anguished reply of 'Egad, it's too late. We're too late,' as he sinks into a chair bonelessly. The blood rushes too loudly in his ears and his eyes are unfocused, yet focus only on his brother, the body of his brother and a shudder overtakes his being.

* * *

 

There was a strong likeness in the facial physicality of all three cousins, strongest between Sirius and Regulus, who could have easily passed for twins. This marked similarity was common to all of the descendents of the Blacks; even the fairer cousins, Narcissa and Evan, had the same aristocratic features that seemed to belong to them.

 

The three cousins in the room all shared the proud foreheads, the aquiline hint in the noses, the pronounced cheekbones, the delicate lips and the imperial, stubborn chins. It was their personalities that had caused the differences in their expressions. Where Sirius Black had always been aloof, that distance responsible in a large part for the attraction he held to women, Evan had an expressive face; when he laughed, so did all those around him, and when he smiled, he was sharing a joke. When he was filled with despondency such as this, he infected the air, suffocating and smothering those around him such that even Severus, who had spent several years with him, couldn't help but become affected too. Severus' eyes had, however, remained trained on Reg – Reg who had been sneeringly called Reggie until Severus had saved his life before he had entered his teens. Out of all the Blacks he had come across, Reg had always had the blankest of faces, only his grey eyes hinting at his emotions. On the few occasions he had made eye contact, it hadn't been broken until he had willed it so, such intensity there was in his stares. Those very same eyes were closed, never to open again.

 

Without realising, Severus had staggered to the body of the kid he had come to think of as a brother, and without realising, his hands had reached out of their own accord, floating just shy of touching him. Even from that distance, he felt the dark magic radiating like toxic fumes. He ignored it, centring instead on the thin face that had become ever more gaunt since he had made his foolish decision.

 

He had hated them all, each and every one of them, for the majority of his school years, just as he had been despised by them. From being resented by his father for having magical abilities he could not help and despised by his mother (he could never quite work out why), to being universally hated by the rest of the school for belonging to Slytherin and reviled in Slytherin for not really belonging to them, his only alleviation had been Lily until a fateful afternoon he had found his main tormentor's little brother thrown into a lake. He'd watched out of impartial interest until he had realised the boy wasn't coming up. Despite purity of blood, awareness of magical abilities since birth and natural gifts therein, Severus had never accounted for the shock and trauma of the event, panic and the fact that Reg had been stupefied first. Despite not knowing this, Severus hadn't taken long to reach the lakeside, sending two meaningful curses at the girls, at least a couple of years senior to Regulus. He had then artfully discovered Regulus' location and drawn him to the water's edge. He hadn't been underwater long enough for him to be more than shocked and terrified but seeing the little boy like that had softened Severus' attitude towards him. Their friendship had been created when both Narcissa and Regulus had expressed gratitude, and solidified when they had identified the culprit behind the 'prank'.

 

And since then, little Reg (no longer sneeringly called Reggie) had looked up to Severus, inviting him into the very tight circle he had chosen as his own, and he had never quite stopped looking up to the older student. Severus had never attempted to dissuade Reg from doing that either, feeling like it was one-upmanship where Sirius was concerned. Maybe it had also been because he had felt that if Reg stopped looking up to him, maybe their friendship would cease too? And maybe if this friendship finished, the others would be finished with him too? The only time he had ever admitted to himself that the true reason he had never dissuaded Reg was that awful night when he had seen that little boy taking the blasted marking on his left forearm – Reg was his brother as much as blood could have ever made him, and had etched himself so thoroughly into his being that Severus could no longer imagine a Severus that was without a shy, thoughtful 'Sev', followed by too large eyes looking at him through the absurdly long and floppy hair covering the bulk of Reg's thin face.

 

And now Reg, with the power derived from intelligence that was borne from sheer interest, that had the unwavering loyalty few possessed and that could spend hours and days and weeks on one problem because he wanted to solve it – now that very Reg was dead and Severus had little idea of what to do because, in the least, he would have to ease the dark magic that encompassed his body. Reg wouldn't want that magic clinging to him and wouldn't want it attacking his body and it couldn't be comfortable for him at all, could it?

 

_Magic_. Severus had frowned, eyes suddenly sparking to life with focus and intent, sifting through the layers of magic that he could feel, threads of magic almost visible and palpable, easing around it without disrupting their flow. It had been faint, growing fainter by the seconds, but Severus had felt the magic and recognised it, not just that which had attached to Reg and was continuing to attack him; there were traces of Regulus' own magic that he could detect, Severus familiar with its individualities from his years with the younger boy. If traces of his magic remained, maybe...

 

He hadn't bothered with voicing his thoughts, opting for immediate action instead. He had brought his hands together and had started pressing on Reg's chest. How had it gone? What was the rate? It hadn't mattered – Penny had said that it hadn't mattered. All that had mattered was ensuring it worked and with that, Severus had put force and emotion and hope and will into each thump that he pressed on the sickeningly thin chest that refused to move by itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So any reviews, opinions and thoughts will be appreciated. These two chapters are essentially setting up the story - from next chapter onwards, expect actual action (or inaction) and other characters becoming a more active participant in the story.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed the read.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Sirius doesn't know how to say that brotherhood trumps cousinhood without sounding childish, Severus employs the subtleties of a sledgehammer and Evan and Reg are in bed together...

Sirius can’t peel his eyes away from the vision of Snape, _snivelling, slimy Snape_ , pounding away at Reg. Sounds leave his mouth, work their way past the lump occluding his throat, but they are senseless. Dimly, he sees his blasted cousin staring at _Snape_ with compassion. Reg was _his_ cursed brother, the brother for whom he had left his allegiances to fighting the good fight for, and where was the compassion for _him_? Why was there any for the slimy snake he is certain led his brother astray in the first place? He blinks and blinks and some of the moisture make their way down his cheeks, blanched in shock, and mingle with the rain from outside but he cares not.

 

Why should he?

 

That is his brother over there – his brother’s body, he corrects himself and the shuddering starts again. It doesn’t stop when he thinks he hears a gasp of breath or sees Snape collapsing in an extremely undignified heap on the floor or hears choked incomprehensible sounds resonating from Rosier.

 

It doesn’t even cease when he hears a very quiet, hoarse _‘Sev_ ’ that trembles vulnerably in the air, sounding suspiciously like his little brother. In fact, the shaking magnifies and Sirius can’t tell if it’s shock or something more familiar.

 

‘You _STUPID_ little brat,’ his voice erupts the quiet that engulfs them and Sirius supposes that he now knows his shaking is from anger, although everything feels detached. He can hardly acknowledge the anger when he can’t feel the guilt as he sees his little brother’s feeble attempts to shuffle away or his eyes, large and openly scared as they haven’t been since he’d first left for Hogwarts.

 

He is feeling rather incensed and he doesn’t hesitate or pause to wonder if it is misplaced. He wants to shout and scream and all that comes out instead is a growl and Sirius is instantly diverted, wondering what research has been performed on the long-term consequences of regular transformations into animagi forms, because that was a _remarkably_ canine growl and it was so automatic. He knows Prongs won’t be interested and he doubts Wormtail would have the smallest notion but maybe Moony would join him in the research?

 

He’s already decided on five books that he’ll ‘borrow’ from the family collections – after all, now that he’s set foot in the home he had declared he never would, he might as well take advantage of it and the vast, flamboyant library he used to play hide-and-seek in. Admittedly, he’d spent more time frightening his kid brother, but it had been entertaining regardless, and they’d still called it hide-and-seek.

 

The smile that had unknowingly spread across his face slips away as two spooked faces stare at him (and one stares resolutely at the floor).

 

‘Would you like me to escort you home, cousin?’ Rosier’s voice, brutally chilling in its aristocratic emotionlessness, at odds with how he had been speaking during the rest of the evening, has Sirius blinking, his thoughts of research slipping seamlessly into irritation.

 

‘Why would I need you to do that?’ Sirius eyes him with misgiving, instincts warning him of a trap but unable to identify how.

 

‘Well, that was really a rather polite way of asking you to get out,’ Rosier admits with disarmingly frank honesty and a slightly apologetic tone that couldn’t help but cause Sirius to reluctantly grin.

 

‘How considerate of you,’ he retorts in kind. ‘I’d hate for you to be rude.’

 

‘I know,’ Evan spreads his hands with a physical representation of ‘but what can one do’ that Sirius eyes with appreciation, admiring the dramatics. Dastardly though he is, he is equally entertaining and it is nigh on impossible to not respond to him in kind. And there is a _very_ deep-seated (and always to be denied) part of him that likes his cousin, conscienceless murderer though he is.

 

‘Regardless, I think it would be infinitely preferable,’ Evan’s eyes flitted briefly to his brother’s form, his living, breathing, soon-to-be-dead-at-his-hands brother that stared steadfastly at the floor. ‘If perhaps we could keep the noise levels to a minimum. Unless you were particularly keen on a tête-à-tête with your mother?’ One well defined blonde eyebrow lifts slightly, and Sirius feels his stomach turning, and damn the blonde fop because he has Sirius at a metaphorical wand-point and he knows it, the smug bastard.

 

‘Mother,’ the strangled, breathless gasp turns all eyes onto the shivering youngster on the floor. It’s with a twisted, morbid fascination that Sirius watches him, limbs shaking in all directions, as he tries to stand up and falters again and again.

 

‘I’ll check on her,’ Evan says as all Sirius does is stare, and his voice is remarkably soft and warm and contrary to any time Sirius has ever spoken with him (admittedly, not often). ‘And you, dear cousin, are coming with me.’

 

 _Some auror I would’ve been_ , he thinks as his arm is gripped tightly by his blonde cousin before he has time to raise his wand, let alone throw a curse, hex, anything that would help him escape a meeting with his mother. Evan even has time to light the kinara on the desk and levitate it before them with a simple flick of his left hand, closing the door behind them with another elaborate flick. The unused candles release a gentle scent of sandalwood. The shaking is back but Sirius knows this time it’s dread and disgust more than anything else. As he is led away from his brother’s bedroom, his mind runs its paces, coming up with plan after plan that could allow him to avoid this meeting before the silence is broken by Evan’s cheerful, dulcet voice.

 

‘It’s been a rather long time since you’ve been home, cousin. Things have changed a trifle,’ he confides in him, as though this could interest Sirius. ‘Aunt Wally isn’t well,’ a hard note creeps into his voice and Sirius stiffens. ‘She’s been bound to her quarters for the better part of a year and,’ Sirius flinches from the pinch on his arm. ‘Regulus cares dearly for her and so I can’t have you upsetting her because that’ll upset him. You understand my meaning, cousin?’

 

His tone is the epitome of perfect, even politeness but there is a martial light in his eyes and this glint unties Sirius’ tongue and raises his hackles. ‘That woman is insane, an evil, insane, crazy woman. Besides, in case you didn’t know, she’s blasted me off the tapestry,’ Narcissa had been rather pointed about informing him so. ‘And my very existence will upset her. So maybe you should let me go,’ he finishes triumphantly, optimistically hoping that this’ll play to his advantage.

 

‘And let you go back to shout at Reggie some more? You must think me dim-witted, cousin,’ Evan continues his march onwards, Sirius trapped at his side.

 

‘The whole world thinks so, Evan,’ Sirius bites back.

 

‘Yes, but I don’t expect common sense from the rest of the world,’ Evan replies with nonchalance and Sirius can’t help the laughter that erupts through his lips. He has no love for his cousin or any of his family, as he tells people time and again, but they do entertain him. The silence continues as they creep closer to his mother’s quarters and Sirius’ mood sinks correspondingly.

 

‘Do you remember how your father used to introduce Regulus at parties?’ Evan asks suddenly. Sirius racks his memories, ignoring the pang he feels momentarily. His father had always introduced him as Sirius, his heir, having once told him that he was Sirius Black first and foremost, an heir second. It had sounded profound to his little ten year old self but clearly all his father had meant was that he was disposable.

 

‘He never did,’ Evan speaks again, his face contorted into hard angles and shapes that give this foppish cousin a frightening, sharp edge. ‘Keep that in mind when you belittle your mother in front of Reggie.’

 

Before Sirius is able to retort (the anger rises swiftly, the words less so), Evan is knocking on the familiar door of his mother’s chambers. Evan’s brows quirk and he enters, dragging Sirius with him.

 

The vitriol dries with his throat. His mother had always been proud of her patrician cheek bones; she gifted it to both of her sons. But prominence doesn’t describe the cheekbones of the woman before him; rather they look caved in. She looks thin, dreadfully so and Sirius suspects illness rather than fashion fad. Her eyes look positively giant with the orbits jutting out like circular cliffs. Her skin looks like tissue paper with no glamours in place and the tears are drifting down silently.

 

His mother’s eyes light up momentarily, yet as he steps towards her, feeling not quite capable of yelling at someone who looked so frail and unwell, her face falls and for the first time in his life, he sees his mother cry. He would never admit it but it touches his heart – she looks dreadful, snot mingling with her tears, her face crumpled up, but it’s the first time he has associated human emotions with this monster.

 

Eventually, he works out what she’s mumbling. Evan is already by her side, arms around her and rocking her gently, murmuring quietly to her. ‘Reggie, oh my poor Reggie, my poor son.’

 

It’s like being drenched in Salamander saliva. It burns, slowly but deeper each second. _Of course_ there was only one son she had ever cared about. For all that he can’t recall his father introducing Regulus at parties, he can remember every time his mother complimented Reggie at his expense. Oh, you’re flying on the broom Sirius? But Regulus, your form is perfect. Making potions? But my, isn’t Reggie growing to be a genius at it.

 

She calms down, eventually, as Sirius stands there, stubbornly refusing to offer any comfort. _Why should he_?

 

‘You have found him? He is okay? You are certain?’ There’s desperation in her eyes and if only she had shown him a quarter of such care, he would have never despised her. Fortunately, Evan is still there, both of her hands surrounded by his as he replies to her, promises her that yes, he is alive and well in his bedroom.

 

Sirius can’t help the snort that escapes. _Well_ is certainly an exaggeration but Evan continues to reassure her, soothes her nerves and she has never seemed less frightening and more pathetic. It should curb his resentment but it is fanned instead.

 

‘Dinner will be a little late, Aunt Wally. If I don’t come and have a bite with you, I’m sure Sev will. Reggie’s just a little under the weather,’ Evan finally says with the sort of understatement only he can make commonplace. It is minutes since the tears have dried and Sirius is about to bitingly point this out when he notices two plates of food, untouched, that causes his stomach to clench painfully. He’s still not too distracted to notice Evan stealing the crumpled, wet letter she had been clutching in her wasted hands.

 

The walk back is silent, Sirius seething impotently and Evan’s normally carefree façade wearing a frown. Buzzing sounds greet them outside his brother’s bedroom and Sirius has little time to be more than perplexed before Evan enters it, and then all he can hear is Severus shouting.

 

‘You peacock brained pig of a fool,’ Snape is shouting, spittle spraying everywhere as Sirius gapes at him. ‘Penny will prick your ears with a dozen holes, she’ll curl your nails off, rip of your eyelashes one at a time. Do you have any idea how foolish you are, you rabbit brained dunderhead?’ His arms are waving around in magnificently theatrical gestures, large and wide and occasionally knocking things around.

 

Snape turns around and sees that the two of them have returned. His lips twist into something and he practically snarls as he talks. ‘Oh good, you’re back. You can mind this pigeon-witted fool of a child for me while I work out an antidote for the poison he has so happily drank.’ Just as abruptly, he turns back to Sirius’ little brother and snarls again. ‘And _you_ , you spotless leopard-hearted gazelle-minded dimwit, you had better call Penny and Cissy,’ Severus shudders as he says the two names. He gestures to Kreacher – and this nearly knocks Sirius over with shock – Kreachers says nothing in defence of the master dearest to him other than casting Reg a darkling look, sniffing and muttering ‘Master Severus is right about silly little master. It’s a shame Master Severus was not shouting at him before he did such foolish, foolish things,’ and with this parthian shot, he grabs hold of Severus and apparates away.

 

Sniggering to himself, Evan walks to Regulus on the bed, and plops down. “Guess I’m babysitting again,’ he says so cheerfully that it could only be false, the concerned frown disguised by his grin.

 

‘And where do I stay?’ Sirius asks testily, scowling. He nearly steps back at the poisonous glare that Regulus gives him. Such ingratitude, he thinks but he’s interrupted by the painful, croaking whisper.

 

‘You could go home, I don’t even know why you’re here,’ his little brat of a brother says petulantly but before he has time to explode, Evan interrupts in a suspiciously timely manner.

 

‘Or if you’d like to stay, there’s always your bedroom,’ he adds a beatific smile and Sirius’ scowl worsens as he eyes the two of them with distrust. He finally stomps out of the room, unsure of how to point out that his right as an older brother trumps those of an older cousin without sounding infantile. He turns into the bedroom next door, the familiar scantily clad women on posters greeting him. He looks behind his cupboard, clearing things away from the hole in the wall, and drops himself gracelessly onto his old bed. This is _his_ house as well, damn it. Or at least more his than _Evan’s_ or _Snivellus’_ and blow him like a blowfish if he’ll be chased away by those two. He’ll leave when he wants to, he decides, burying his face into a pillow with such a familiar scent, of sandalwood mingled with something else, and while straining to hear the words that drift through the hole, he falls deeply asleep, dead to the world around him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Regulus watched Severus disappear with relief, eyes meeting his cousin’s with mutual amusement. When cowardly abandoned by his cousin, he had faced a _quiet_ Severus, with cold, calculating eyes, assessing and analysing through any feeble shields Regulus had attempted – all metaphorical, of course, since he hadn’t been able to feel a trace of his magic since being ‘saved’, and wasn’t that a ghastly thought to be ignored for the time being?

 

Severus had asked questions, employing none of the cunning that every single Slytherin he had ever come into contact with had tried to teach him. Instead, he asked questions like a persistent hammer, again and again with every permutation that he could think of, in a manner so methodical and tedious that it invariably worked, if the victim was unwilling to hex him or themselves into oblivion. He had been more a hawk than the eyas he so frequently behaved like, but Regulus, for once, evaded. He answered distractedly and avoided eye contact because Severus, the dunderhead, had been known to accidentally perform legilimency. How one could perform an advanced mind art _accidentally_ was beyond his comprehension but did confirm his belief that there was more than just mere Prince blood that Severus had discovered in his sixth year.

 

In spite of his best efforts, understanding had entered Severus’ face, and that brief expression of enlightenment had kindled a faint memory in Regulus’ mind. There had been something familiar in that cold but understanding face that could readily resemble flews of a bloodhound unpleasantly with age (and weight, if the idiot ever took the time to eat regularly). It had regardless disconcerted him. Without any ability at occulomency, doubting whether he would even be able to detect legilimency currently, he could but rely on his understanding of human character and the human character before him in particular.

 

When Severus had become his usual bombastic self, throwing expletives nobody had ever heard of, employing animals into insults in truly creative ways, Reg was relieved because it meant Sev was on his way to overcoming his anger. It was entertaining, Sev was _always_ entertaining, but Reg felt so _cold_ , he didn’t have any of his magic because he was dying, he now unfortunately knew what would come of his death and he had a stupidly absurd desire to cry. He was glad, _so_ immeasurably thankful when his cousin entered the room and Sev left with Kreacher’s too-knowing eyes, and ever more grateful when his _ex-_ brother left because even if there was that furrow between his eyes, Reg knew Evan loved him enough to give him some peace before asking questions.

 

Of course, that gratitude all but evaporated when that dandy was asked to babysit him. It was childish but Reg was pouting, all out, pursed lips pouting, and if there was one thing Reg wasn’t, was a child. Perhaps legally, technically, in most countries, he was considered a child but he wasn’t, not within his soul and especially not with the curse slowly destroying what remained of it and the term felt like mockery. He still shifted towards the wall as Evan gestured to sit on his bed, the great big git.

 

‘So Sirius is still alive,’ Evan spoke nonchalantly, closely examining his left index fingernail. It was always that nail he looked at when trying to stealthily start a deep, meaningful conversation.

 

 _Idiot_ , Reg thought but announced it with his expression if Evan’s amused eyebrow was anything to go by.

 

‘I tried to warn him,’ Evan admitted. ‘It was too late.’

 

‘Shame. You should’ve let the tosser die,’ Reg said instead of asking if they were being found out. His heart hammered painfully against the injuries on his chest. He couldn’t live with himself if Sev or Ev got hurt because of him, his stupidity, his inability to find an escape route. Luckily, he wouldn’t be living long anyway, he thought, the humour doing nothing to lift his mood. Apparently, living with despondency for months did nothing to get him accustomed to it.

 

The warmth of Evan’s body beside him burnt Reg’s skin, burnt his eyes enough to bring infantile tears within them. He’s sorry, so sorry, but he isn’t really because Reg knew he’d make the same stupid decisions all over again. _Ereshkigal_ , what had he gotten himself into? His hand slipped into his pocket and his thumb brushed over the coin, over the female figure with wings.

 

His shuddering subsided as Evan’s arms closed around him, pulled him firmly into his cousin’s chest and he finally allowed tears to fall. The silence was comforting, more than words could have been. His cousin’s presence was a balm and finally, his tears stopped. He was so damn cold and nothing was warming him up.

 

‘Georgina?’ Evan’s voice was low, soothing but Reg still jerked away violently. All he managed in response was a shrug, tense and tight and giving everything away that he didn’t want it to.

 

‘I’ll find out tomorrow for you,’ Evan promised, smart enough not to utter hollow comfort. The silence settled again like a warm blanket, Reg’s head still resting on Evan’s chest as his fingers slipped through Reg’s black hair in a soothing rhythm. His hair has gotten too long, he should cut it, thought Reg, tired through to his bones. Couldn’t let his animated corpse look anything other than outstanding, could he?

 

‘We’ll talk about it in the morning,’ Evan murmured, the vibrations running through Reg. It sounded like a threat but Reg doubted he’d even live to see the morning. It mattered not, not in the here and now, surrounded by his cousin, subduing the resentment that he couldn’t seem to rid himself of.

 

‘So Sev is going to have a late dinner with your mum…’ Reg felt Ev’s lips curving into a smile and his lips responded accordingly.

 

‘Does he know yet?’ He forced a croak through his throat.

 

Ev doesn’t need to laugh; it’s in his words. ‘Not yet. We’ll break the news to him. Gently.’

 

‘I don’t understand why he’s so scared of mother,’ Reg wondered out loud. ‘She loves him.’

 

‘It’s probably the fact that she always makes him eat seconds and tells him to put on some weight.’

 

‘And that he needs a holiday abroad to somewhere sunny so he can stop looking so pale.’

 

‘And the fact that your mum is a genius.’

 

Reg demurred. ‘She always said father was the genius.’

 

‘But she was also the only one who could ever keep him in line,’ Ev objected. Reg didn’t deny it, he burrowed his head into the more comfortable nook between Ev’s arm and chest; years of pratice allowed him to do so with ease. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, he wouldn’t sleep until it became the more permanent kind but Ev knew him so well and Reg already knew he was prepared to stay up all night. He’ll tell Ev tomorrow, Sev too, about the locket, he decided. His fingers grasped the metal coin in his pocket, eyes drifted to the amulets of various theriomorphic beings he’d kept for luck, and momentarily, the cold receded. It returned with a vengeance and Reg clung to his cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the length of the chapter goes some way to apologising for the delay in updating the story.
> 
> This one's a slow burner but hell, I'm having a bucket load of fun writing Ev and Sirius together. They could so have had a bromance in another world. Or maybe this one...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Sirius meets Aunt Dru and smells Uncle Cygnus before he seems him, Evan is rather fed up of his Black cousins (so melodramatic, all of them, even if he secretly rather likes them too) and Reg is... Well... Not speaking much and not dead...yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in producing the chapter. Writer's block can be an absolute B, trying to overcome it!
> 
> I won't say more, other than that I hope the length of the chapter goes some way towards consolation, and that I hope you enjoy reading it.

**~ Those who excel in virtue have the best right of all to rebel, but then they are of all men the least inclined to do so. ~**

Aristotle

****

When Sirius awakens, it’s without the hyperawareness that time with Moody inevitably provides, nor with the fear and alarm that he has arisen to increasingly often in the last several months.

 

Instead, there is a blurring of his senses, slowly crystallising, forging gradually into awareness, before he realises, _shit_ , this isn’t his usual room. He is waiting for the panic to set in. He’s more anxious when he realises that he isn’t panicking and _why isn’t he panicking after waking up in his parents' Hades-damned house and with known DeathEaters and Snape (shudder) in the house, somewhere?_

He gets up tentatively, mistrusting himself more than his surroundings. He kneels by his cupboard in the corner, squinting at the dust and webs and spiders that have taken root there. Kreacher’s getting lazy, he thinks caustically. He shoves them away with wandless magic before squeezing his head in the space between the cupboard and wall as best he can. His head’s definitely gotten bigger, he thinks with a grin. Lily would _love_ to know that.

 

The voices start drifting across softly, through the hole that connected this corner of his room with Reg’s room. Reg had clearly never discovered it. It’s how he’d always known when Reg woke up with nightmares – a little charm to make the sounds louder and it had been easy to enter his room after his nightmares in the fashion of the big, heroic Dragon Slayers of the years gone by. Now, he’s using it effectively to spy. _Just to help the Order, of course…_

 

He listens for as long as he can stand it. He honestly does, but it’s _so boring_. It’s just a bit of teasing and prodding, random conversations started by random thoughts, and it’s achingly reminiscent of how he and Prongs used to be. It’s painful and he hasn’t learnt anything useful (other than that Rosier _does_ use styling charms on his hair – ha, he knew it couldn’t be natural like he’d always claimed). The next obvious step is to barge into Reg’s room, with as little decorum as he can possibly apply, just to annoy him (habits of an older brother die hard, and to be honest, he’d applied it regularly to his friends during Hogwarts too).

 

He stops short, Rosier’s unimpressed eyebrow once again stating how unimpressed it is by climbing its way to his _charmed_ hairline. Reg looks at him for the merest of seconds before scowling and looking away. It’s enough for any juvenile jubilation Sirius feels to seep away sadly; Reg doesn’t look good. In fact, he looks downright corpsey. Sirius doesn’t like it.

 

‘About time you were up,’ Evan says cheerily and begad, how can he be so happy so early in the morning? Sirius shudders dramatically to make his point, and only partially to show the stupid Rosier that he can be (melo)dramatic too! ‘I’ll drag Sev out of his lab and we’ll have some breakfast.’

 

‘ _Severus_ is still here,’ Sirius says with disgust at the same time as Reg says ‘Can’t you get rid of _him_?’. For a halcyon moment, Sirius thinks they’re on the same parchment but then he catches Reg’s glare and the moment dissipates like cheap perfume.

 

‘You know, you might try to be grateful, or at least not an utter prat, towards the guy that saved your life,’ Sirius’ voice is thin and brittle, eyes flicking hard and grey directly at his little brother. The anger that fills him is sudden, if familiar, and it would be so easy and very tempting to give in to it.

 

‘He’s right, you know,’ Evan agrees cheerfully, far, far too cheerfully but it does divert Reg’s glare onto himself and Sirius’ anger douses as suddenly as it had arrived.

 

‘I hate you both,’ Reg tells Evan flatly and when he looks back at Sirius, his glare is fully present, just a little less hateful than it was earlier. Sirius hates the feeling of achievement he gets but his brother still looks like he’s dying and, well, death is probably as good a reason to rediscover kinship as any.

 

The moment elongates gracelessly and there’s that air of awkwardness that makes Sirius itch and urge to say something, anything, however stupid or antagonistic (usually both). He’s not the only one feeling so; Rosier footles with the latest expensive bauble his mother bought for him, a lewd signet ring that held a dark ruby surrounded by smaller emeralds, and his eyes keep glancing beneath his lashes to the door. Reg stares at his fingers, his trembling, white fingers that look bloodless. It’s, therefore, with uniform relief that the staccato clicks announces the arrival of Narcissa, if Sirius hazards a guess.

 

He’s feeling smug with himself when the door crashes open to reveal the icy blonde but there’s that uncomfortable feeling he can’t (and won’t) identify, as he notices her sans make-up, eyes shamelessly red and dried tear tracks grossly evident on her pale cheeks. It’s his turn to sprint his eyebrows towards his (uncharmed) hairline as she stalks towards her youngest and favourite cousin before slapping him soundly on the cheek.

 

Reg’s cheeks dance to a flaming red before he looks at her. Sirius is expecting fireworks (‘Let them raise their hands against a Black, and let them then feel our wrath and strength,’ his father’s words echo like an ancient, out-dated pamphlet). Instead, Reg looks up at her, big, big eyes in a thin, thin face, opened at its widest, puerile and vulnerable; by Jove, Reg is manipulative as a Veela. Sirius is as nauseated as he is impressed, truthfully.

 

‘I probably deserved that,’ he says, his voice low, thin and oh so vulnerable (and in contrast with when he had demanded Rosier to get rid of his own big brother). Narcissa draws in a shuddering breath that in a lesser, more human mortal could have been a sob but Reg hurriedly continues. ‘In fact, I definitely did deserve that,’ he hastily amends before looking up at her through his lashes (just like Rosier, effeminate as you please).

 

‘That magic, it’s dark, _malevolent_ ,’ Cissy’s voice is hushed and cracked, and that, more than anything else, confirms to Sirius that his blonde cousin isn’t entirely soulless. She shudders and even Sirius’ cynicism can’t but consider it genuine. She’s playing her fingers on the hand that slapped, trying to remove any remnants that she had felt (and how had she kept such an intuitive, powerful magic under her robe throughout school?).

 

The silence is broken by Reg. ‘Yeah, it’s his. I’m dying.’ It feels like more than just the silence might have been broken. He’s nonchalant, matter of fact and it’s altogether disturbing in a boy who looks considerably younger than his age.

 

‘He _did_ this to you?’ Narcissa’s voice is thin ice, beautiful and dangerous and lethal; her words are simple but her demeanour announces vengeance. Sirius has to clamp down _hard_ on the traitorous thought that his family was undoubtedly evil but maybe not _that_ evil. (‘Evil is evil, there’s no grey areas,’ he remembers Prongs telling him when his brother had been sorted into Slytherin.)

 

‘ _I_ did this to me,’ Reg’s voice is harsh and there’s a thick tone of loathing lacing the words lavishly.

 

‘It’s a curse?’ Narcissa’s eyes are coolly assessing him, unblinking eyes in a fierce stare.

 

‘Amongst _other_ things,’ Reg says in a drawl that’s too forced.

 

Before the interrogation can continue, stomping and indecipherable noises that could pass for English in the uncouth parts of society permeate the room. The door opens to reveal a _Snape_ that’s being dragged by Kreacher, who barely reaches his knees, and it’s enough for Sirius to choke on a laugh.

 

‘I has saved Master Sev from work,’ Kreacher announces with dignity, sparing a glare to be thrown at said Master Sev. ‘Missy Cissy, it is pleasure to see you here. Apologies for not greetings you when you arrived but I was savings this incognisant boy from starvation.’

 

All eyes stare at Kreacher at his proclamation.

 

‘Incognisant?’ Sirius finally asks in disbelief.

 

‘I’m trying to improve Kreacher’s taste in books,’ Reg says, a half smile playing at his lips.

 

‘When did that _thing_ learn to read?’ Sirius demands, utterly flummoxed.

 

‘That _thing_ taught _me_ to read, so apparently before me,’ the humour drifts easily away from Reg’s face and Sirius bites back any retorts he wants to say, because he can very clearly remember sitting down with his father and going through the alphabet but he can’t remember who taught Reg to read.

 

‘What books does Kreacher like?’ Narcissa asks with lively curiosity.

 

‘He is _obsessed_ with historical romances,’ Reg says with a positively pained expression on his face.

 

‘ _Regency_ , Master Reg,’ Kreacher corrects him reproachfully and Sirius struggles to not giggle hysterically. It wouldn’t help his reputation.

 

‘I’m improving his taste in books,’ Reg says firmly.

 

‘With terrible, horrible books about muggles making monsters and machines and taking over the world and rotten futures…’ Kreacher mutters in outraged whispers.

 

‘Science fiction?’ Rosier sniggers delightedly but sobers quickly enough when he glances at Reg.

 

‘Sev’s working on the poison this _idiote_ drank,’ he tells Narcissa, his nonchalant manner a memory. He looks as serious as he had when he’d come to find Sirius, hard and angulated. ‘The curse might be a bit beyond you.’

 

Sirius again expects a splendid explosion; his family’s egos are rather infamous and frequently mocked outside their own circles but he’s once again disappointed. Narcissa turns her stare of crystal shards onto Rosier but remains glacial in her demeanour. Eventually, they reach some sort of understanding – Sirius would almost suspect legilimency but as if Narcissa would ever deign to work at a skill of that sort, Sirius thinks. She’s more of a peacock than Rosier.

 

‘I’ll get mum,’ is all she says before she throws herself at Reg, surrounding him in a suffocating hug that he doesn’t even pretend to not savour before twirling around (not a plebeian turn for the likes of Narcissa) and leaves.

 

‘Sort of fitting for Aunt Dru to be the one to examine me,’ Reg says drily before snuggling into his cousin’s side.

 

‘You’re not a dead body yet,’ Rosier tells him firmly.

 

‘Are you really dying?’ The words slip out before Sirius can stop them and he’s fastened with four pairs of identical incredulous frowns.

 

‘No, I’m just having a lark,’ his brother bites back but Sirius is having none of it.

 

‘Don’t be an ass. Are you really dying?’ Sirius asks again, because he has to know. He doesn’t think he wants to actually know but he sort of has to, even if he doesn’t want to.

 

‘Of course I am. It’s rather obvious,’ Reg’s tone is even but his fingers tremble and Sirius finds himself gripping Reg’s hands, hard enough to blanch the already pale skin.

 

‘I won’t let you,’ Sirius vows and hopes (prays) he keeps his word.

 

‘Oh, hello everyone,’ Aunt Druella stands in the doorway, blinking and smiling uncertainly. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting an orgy or anything,’ she continues, wincing as she sees the disgusted looks all around.

 

‘ _Not_ an orgy, mum,’ Narcissa spoke from behind her, just visible over her short mother. ‘We’re all family, remember?’

 

‘Never stopped the Gaunts,’ her mother replies. ‘Besides, you get used to that sort of thing when you’re around Angus and Rébecca,’ she flashes Evan an apologetic smile at his very loud groan of disgust. ‘How did you think you were created?’ She still asks him with amusement.

 

Sirius blinks at his aunt as he takes her in. Last time he’d met her was a decade ago, just after he’d started Hogwarts. All he remembers were her formal robes and her hair pulled tightly into an elaborate bun, making her thin body with her thin face and her thin lips dreadfully severe. Her hair was still pulled back – in a ponytail now, and she wore the white robes that certain branches of Healers wore, but she didn’t look severe, and certainly didn’t look frightening right now. Maybe it was his height – he towered over her by maybe as much as a foot, maybe it was that he was just older.

 

‘Is Wally here?’ She peers around the room.

 

‘It’s Reg, mum,’ Narcissa guides her towards her youngest cousin. ‘He’s been cursed,’ the words are clipped. ‘It’s _dark_.’

 

‘ _All_ curses are dark by definition,’ Druella says casually. ‘Although it’s so inaccurate. Much better to define it by category, really.’

 

She comes up close to Regulus, her hands following his contours so slowly it looks sensual. ‘I’m much more used to dealing with people once they’ve died,’ she flushes at her daughter’s indignant sound before looking apologetic once again. ‘Sorry. I’m obviously early. I mean it’s lucky we’ve caught it early. I’m sure we can stop you from dying.’ She twirls a strand of hair around a finger distractedly before focussing on him again, gnawing on her bottom lip.

 

She eventually asks him to turn around and repeats her very slow perusal with her hands. At long last, she straightens out and stretches. ‘You know, it’s a lot easier with dead people; they don’t move around so much and I’ve got my favourite stool to sit on,’ she remarks to no-one in particular.

 

‘ _Mum_ , _empathy_ ,’ Narcissa sighs and her mother looks abashed again.

 

‘I don’t mean that I wish you were dead at all, Reg. In fact, I’m very delighted to see that you’re not,’ she explains herself to an openly grinning Reg, and he looks so _young_ when he smiles like that. ‘In fact, I’m delighted to see you too, Evan, and you too, Sirius,’ she adds.

 

‘No, mum, you’re _not_ delighted to see Sirius,’ Narcissa corrects her.

 

‘Why not?’ Aunt Druella looks sincerely confused. ‘It’s not Sirius’ fault that he exacerbated the love rectangle. I mean, it was already awkward to begin with, so how much worse could he really make it? I mean, it did get quite a bit worse and it was very much a little bit not good, but that wasn’t really _Sirius’_ fault. I mean, really, all this should have been sorted out years ago,’ she ends her speech a little bit breathlessly, to use her own style of language, and why does Sirius not remember her ever being so… so _her_?

 

‘Mum,’ Narcissa whines again, but in a way that’s oddly elegant. ‘We don’t like Sirius because he was horrid to Reg, and we are Team Reg,’ she stamps her foot and it should look childish but it doesn’t.

 

‘Oh, of course. Sorry Sirius,’ she flashes him an increasingly familiar awkward smile. ‘I’m not delighted to see you then. Has anyone had breakfast? I’m rather hungry. It’s a known reaction to the potions we use with dead bodies,’ she smiles at everyone. ‘And you must eat, Regulus, because when we start with the investigating, it might be tiring for you. I’m not entirely sure. You’re not dead so I don’t really know. But it _could_ be tiring, so best to eat now,’ with a gratifying pat on his hands, she stands up, Kreacher sniffing.

 

‘Breakfast has been ready for the past hour,’ he woefully says, and Sirius can do nothing but follow his mad as kneazles family.

 

* * *

 

 

Evan watched Sirius pace the room, eyeing everything with analytical interest. Luckily, he hadn’t lost all of his common sense in Gryffindor, as he kept a safe distance. Ironically enough, Evan was pretty sure all of the items in this room were harmless, Muggle stuff that his uncle had acquired through whatever _hush hush_ things he did for the government.

 

Nothing as tiring as Black brothers, Evan thought as he shifted in the chair. Except Black sisters, but Andromeda had buggered off and disowned them to sit on her high Thestral and Bella was with Rodolphus somewhere, being _gently encouraged_ by him. Cissy was keeping Reg company with her mother in her laboratory; the professional laboratory that she had in her own home, next to the most utilitarian drawing room that Evan had the discomfort of sitting in. The most minuscule of cushioning to soften the chair that Evan sat on, no sofa in sight…

 

He shifted again. Sirius didn’t pause, continuing to circuit the room, to distract his mind from his brother, Evan kindly attributed to him. Everyone else would have accused him of trying to find excuses to get his family incarcerated, but Evan knew his cousin, knew him better than Potter and his own brother did, he suspected. Sirius was as gullible and blinkered as he was logical and deductive. Sirius had the impressive ability to convince himself of anything, if he set his mind (and imagination) to it but he was also unfailingly systematic and discerning. It was the most interestingly paradoxical aspect of his very irritating cousin.

 

The quiet click make both of them jump, although only Sirius looked embarrassed, the self-conscious dandy. Cissy looked pale, leaning against the laboratory door.

 

‘He’s passed out, but mum’s continuing the investigations,’ she said. She physically trembled but her voice hadn’t.

 

‘Investigations?’ Sirius snarled, resuming his animal-in-a-cage walk.

 

‘What else do you expect?’ Narcissa snapped back, anger stilling her. ‘We need to know the curses before we can treat them. Or do you want to take him to St Mungo’s? He’d be carted off to Azkaban without a trial before he’d so much as get a sip of a potion.’

 

‘And whose fault is that?’ Eyes blazing, Sirius was nearly foaming at the mouth.

 

‘Yours,’ Narcissa said without a pause and Evan stilled, his attention riveted at the abrupt culmination of the covert battle that had raged on since Reg’s sorting.

 

Sirius had time to do little more than gape like a stupefied Blowfish before the smell reached them. Putrid, offensive, pungent enough to curl their nails into their curled toes, the smell heralded the undignified arrival of Cygnus Black III. Wild hair with a thrummy beard danced in a crass fashion around a face that was as covered with fetid material as the rest of him, his robes billowing theatrically around his tall, lean, (some would say arrestingly handsome) frame. He strode through the room with a myopic unfettered gaze on the door that Narcissa leant against. She moved out of the way quickly with a muted squeak, but it was impossible to know whether Uncle Cygnus noticed or not, as he flung open the door (his robes still billowing in the draught-free room – a charm, Evan surmised).

 

‘Oh Succubus, stealer of my thoughts, my focus, my mind,’ his rich voice reached them with ease, the timbre pulsating pleasantly with his consonants, ebbing over the syllables. ‘You steal something far more important, far more needed by the world than my heart, though you have that too, oh bewitching Circe of dreams I dare not dream.’

 

With such an entrance, all three of them had taken no time at all to crowd around the doorway (maintaining a substantial distance from Uncle Cygnus), with the perfect vantage point to see Aunt Druella as she turned around. Sirius’ mouth fell open and Evan couldn’t entirely blame him. Rarely had he seen a smile that spread so readily, unabashed, unbridled joy flickering brighter than any lumos, more sparkling than any niffler’s gift.

 

‘Cygnus!’ was all she said but that was more than enough to pronounce her love, and Evan saw Sirius taking it in, filing it away.

 

‘Light of my eye, delight of my heart, I saw the glossy sheen of a brown mouse and could think of nothing else but your beautiful, enchanting hair,’ he pronounced. Aunt Druella’s smile shone ever more brightly, like fiendfyre (Evan would know).

 

‘Aw, you missed me,’ she said.

 

‘Succinct as always, my love,’ Uncle Cygnus said grandly, stepping towards her (and Regulus, lying insensate on the laboratory table).

 

‘Not until you have a wash,’ Aunt Druella warned him.

 

He paused and spoke reproachfully. ‘Have you not missed me, dearest to my heart?’

 

She shook her head. ‘None of your wordplay, Cygnus; you’re not coming any closer until you bathe. Besides, I’m in the middle of a job.’

 

There was another pause, and it seemed that Uncle Cygnus had outright been unaware of Reg. He peered at him, bending in a twiggish fashion from the waist.

 

‘Nervous, the nails are bitten to stubs, right handed as the nails on the left are considerably and consistently more damaged. Drowned – the smell of wet clothes hastily dried ineffectively with a spell is obvious. Recently, of course, as…’ He paused, peered a little closer, and then he pronounced at long last, ‘No, it’s alive!’

 

‘Well done, husband mine,’ Aunt Druella spoke impishly, a cheeky twinkle in her eyes, teeth glinting as she smiled at him. ‘You may also discern that it is your nephew.’

 

‘No touching,’ she warned him again, as his hands drifted just above Reg’s body.

 

‘ _Regulus_ ,’ the words of his uncle were, once again, emphatic, though Evan had no problem in understanding what that it meant.

 

‘Indeed,’ the softness vanished from Aunt Dru’s face and her sombre visage was unsettling for its implications.

 

‘When are you likely to cure him?’

 

‘There’s no guarantee I will,’ Aunt Dru’s grimness infected the area.

 

‘ _I_ have no doubt you will,’ Evan’s uncle spoke softly, so softly they nearly didn’t hear it. It spoke louder than his earlier grand statements had.

 

The smile on her face chased away some of the darkness, but when she spoke, her voice remained grave. ‘You need to contact Arcturus.’

 

‘No.’

 

With equally little hesitation, Aunt Dru told him that it wasn’t a choice.

 

Evan almost audibly choked (Sirius did choke and Cissy just sighed) as before their eyes, their Byronic uncle, cloak still gently rippling, turned petulant and infantile, lower lip sticking out so much that the likeness between Sirius, Regulus and himself impossible to ignore.

 

‘I’ll sort it out myself,’ he announced with dignity.

 

‘Cygnus, you’re under a misapprehension. You will contact Arcturus.’

 

He appeared taller, loomed over his petite wife. ‘If I had my druthers, I choose to solve this problem myself.’

 

Aunt Dru faltered not at all. She stood her ground, coolly looking at the husband she had smiled so brightly at moments ago. With her small, narrowed eyes, thin lips thinned further and arctic tone, she was the facsimile of forbidding. ‘Fine. As you want a choice, I will offer you this. Arcturus or… _Irene_.’

 

They stared at one another and the moment grew longer, as did Uncle Cygnus’ bottom lip. ‘Fine,’ he bit out. He stomped out of the room, pouting powerfully as the youngsters swiftly moved away from his soiled, swaying cloak.

 

‘Narcissa, wonderful to see you,’ he casually threw out behind him. ‘You too, nephews mine. Tell your mother she’s evil incarnate, though bewitching as always.’

 

None of them relayed the message. Her oddly youthful giggle told them she’d heard it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to FreeWeirdGal, scificionado, summer164 and fromunderthecorktree for bookmarking my story.
> 
> Thanks to FreeWeirdGal, Nyx_Ro, accioslash, alien94, Baelorfan, Fataizi, summer164 and the 12 guests for their kudos.
> 
> Thanks to Miranda and Ri for their comments and compliments. A special shout out to CurtisZidaneZiraa for pointing out the mistake in my previous chapter - hopefully it won't be here again!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please do tell me what you thought of it. This chapter sets things up, as does the second and thereon forward, there's more action, a touch of humour, and maybe a bit of the classic teen angst too (after all, Reggie always did want to make the most of his teen years!).
> 
> I do give fair warning - British culture in the late 70s, early 80s will be referenced, along with politics of the time. The views of the characters may occasionally reflect the views of the author (but not all of the views of every character). There will also be a realistic look at why or how the wizarding world may genuinely be threatened by Muggles and their developments. No specific warnings will be given at the start of the chapters but general ones will be given, and distressing facts will be referred to at times.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! Apologies for the ramble.


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